Daphne's Mysteries

Once, I loved a pretty maid
Who did not love me back.
Myself in the woods I laid,
Beneath a laurel tree on my back,
And lamented in loud voice
Of the unluckiness of my choice.

"Hush!" whispered leaves in the wnid.
"Hush! And do not speak of love."
I gasped, and, fearing I sinned,
Began to pray to powers above.
But a voice said: "You are still sane.
But speaking of love will cause her pain."

"Who?" I asked, and no answer
Came back for a moment long.
Then said the voice, "The dancer,
The maid of the hunter's song,
Who fled through the woods for her life
Because she would not be Paean's wife."

"Of this legend I have heard.
The maid, become a laurel tree!"
Above me, leaves softly stirred,
And said, "Do not pity Daphne.
Though to a laurel she has come,
She still has her sweet freedom."

"I do not know what you mean."
Silence, and the leaves in wind.
Then the laurel said, "In the green,
It is not at love that we begin,
For trees nothing know of love.
There are greater mysteries above."

"What?" I asked, and then said I,
"Oh, lovely evergreen laurel trees,
Make me so I need not ask why!
Make me on with Daphne's mysteries!"
The tree said, "I will not quarrel
With your desire. Become the laurel."

And suddenly, there I was bound,
To earth, to rain, to air above,
My roots sinking within the ground,
My leaves afloat with yearning love
To the fire of the sun and sky.
Verily, Daphne did not die;

She became free in her binding,
For she hears every wind-borne tale:
What acorns the squirrels are finding,
What strange paths the fallen leaves sail,
What the light is like on the seas-
These are Daphne's mysteries.

She is rooted fast within the earth,
And so she feels the shift of stone.
A volcano's violent birth
Is not the volcano's birth alone,
But also of she who earth sees-
These are Daphne's mysteries.

She the rain and water receives,
And she hears what it is like in clouds,
How water trickles on other leaves,
How fish swim in swarming crowds,
And what hues a dewdrop's sparkle frees-
These are Daphne's mysteries.

She even joins with Apollo the sun,
And accepts his caresses without fear,
So that she may see how fires run,
How the heat of passion dries a tear,
How to love the sun like other trees-
These are Daphne's mysteries.

And when I came back to myself,
Part of me had forever gone.
I had left human passion on a shelf.
As a tree I watched the rising dawn,
Content and joyful, utterly free-
This is the greatest mystery.

Once, I loved a pretty maid,
But the time for that is past
I walk in the laurel glade,
And lay myself on the grass,
And listen to the leaves in wind,
Knowing that I have not sinned.

Sin is not possible in the grace
Of the forest that, without quarrel,
Accepts all that is in its embrace.
And so I, become the laurel,
Live within the heart of trees-
Those are Daphne's mysteries.